


Voice of Reason

by triste



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Crack, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Smut, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-27 14:16:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triste/pseuds/triste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You wouldn’t want to wake the others, would you?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Theme #9: Smut

Written for the microfic meme  
Theme #9: Smut

~~

It’s impossible for Midorima to sleep when Aomine and Murasakibara are snoring so loudly, the walls are almost shaking from the combined force of their noise. He has no idea how everyone else manages not to be disturbed by it, because there’s no way he’ll be able to relax at this rate.

Aomine has already kicked off the covers of his futon, and Midorima finds it most distasteful how he’s coating his pillow with drool. For someone who dislikes being active during the daytime, Murasakibara certainly makes up for it at night. He keeps tossing and turning, unable to stay still for more than fifteen minutes at a time, and it’s reached a point where Midorima can predict when he’ll change position next.

In contrast, Kuroko doesn’t move a muscle. The only way Midorima even knows he’s still alive is by the steady rise and fall of his chest. Kise also remains motionless, lying on his side, the fingers of his right hand loosely gripping Kuroko’s tee shirt. Neither one of them disturbs Midorima, thankfully, although Kise does have a habit of mumbling strange things in his sleep.

Akashi, of course, is completely silent. Midorima can barely hear the sound of his breathing, but he’s lying on his back, arms crossed over his chest (like a boss, as Aomine would say) when Midorima turns to look at him. It’s as if Akashi can sense his gaze, because he opens his eyes to meet Midorima’s.

“You should sleep, Shintarou. Tomorrow’s practise will be even more rigorous than today’s.”

Midorima doesn’t doubt it. Summer camp for the basketball club has always been like this, with Akashi in charge. Kuroko has already passed out twice, and it’s still only the first day.

“How can I,” he says, “with this infernal racket?”

“In that case, I suppose I should fulfil my duties as captain by helping you get some rest.” 

Before Midorima can tell Akashi to stop, that there’s no need, he slides out of his futon and into Midorima’s. “Wait, what are you–”

“Shh,” Akashi interrupts. “You wouldn’t want to wake the others, would you?”

Midorima’s face burns in the darkness, and he bites his lip when Akashi’s fingers tease open his yukata, mapping out the muscles in his chest. They’re cold against his bare skin, and he shivers under their touch. Akashi seems pleased by his reaction, but Midorima reaches out to catch his wrist, stilling his movements. 

“Not now.”

But Akashi, upon being warned to stop, sounds amused rather than annoyed, like he finds Midorima’s resistance more entertaining than anything else. “Are you trying to defy me?”

He’d never seriously hurt Midorima, at least not physically, but the implication is there, even if he doesn’t say the words out loud.

You belong to me. You’re mine to do with, as I will.

There’s a part of Midorima that wants to shake Akashi’s absolute confidence, to rebel against the control he holds over him, but there’s another, more sensible side that tells him not to push Akashi, not to test his limits.

“No,” Midorima finally replies, loosening his grip on Akashi’s wrist. “I’m trying to be the voice of reason.”

Akashi merely smiles, a mixture of arrogance and indulgence, and Midorima pretends not to be affected by it. “Don’t be so uptight. You’ll never be able to unwind like that.”

Anyone in his situation would find it impossible not to be tense, Midorima thinks. Well, apart from Kise, but he doesn’t count because he’s a pervert. So is Akashi, apparently, and Midorima wonders if what they’re doing counts as exhibitionism if the members of their audience are still asleep.

Although his mind recognises the shamelessness and indecency of it all, his traitorous body can’t help responding to the stimulus of Akashi’s icy fingers coaxing him to hardness. He doesn’t say anything when Akashi guides him onto his stomach, placing a pillow under his hips to cant them up, but he doesn’t assist him either. He’s not unwilling, but he also not terribly happy about it.

Even so, Midorima finds himself closing his eyes and sighing at the sensation of Akashi’s lips at the nape of his neck, surprisingly gentle, not marking him as Midorima expects him to, but simply pressing kisses into his skin. 

“Remember,” Akashi whispers, breath hot against Midorima’s ear, making him shiver, “be quiet.”

Midorima wants to snap back that he knows, that he’s hardly about to start letting out any embarrassing noises, but that’s before Akashi slicks his fingers, before he sinks them into Midorima’s ass, and then it’s suddenly much more difficult to keep his mouth shut, to suppress the urge to gasp and moan.

Instead he growls out, “I hate you.”

“But you love this,” says Akashi, and Midorima hates him even more for being right, for knowing how to make him come undone.

He hates the way his body yields to Akashi, the way it just gives in to the pressure as Akashi slides inside, the way it seems to move on its own, rocking back to meet the languid flex of Akashi’s hips, but he also can’t deny how easy it is to relax into it, to lose himself in the pleasure of their joining.

Akashi probably has him timed, he thinks dimly when he feels fingers curl around his cock, probably knows how many more thrusts it’ll take to tip him over the edge, and all Midorima can do is bury his face into the futon to muffle his moan when his body seizes up, when the tension simply melts right out of him.

He feels it when Akashi comes, the way he goes taut against him, the way he slicks him up inside, hears his sigh of satisfaction, the wet, obscene sound of his dick as he pulls out.

“See?” Akashi says. “That wasn’t so bad.”

The sex is also having its intended effect, by leaving Midorima languid and drowsy. Akashi cleans him up, readjusts his yukata for him, and returns to his own futon once he’s done.

Midorima rolls over onto his side, refusing to acknowledge the sensation of loss that hits him when Akashi leaves.


	2. Theme #7: Humour

Written for the microfic meme  
Theme #7: Humour

~~

It’s nothing unusual for Midorima to find his teammates annoying (well, Aomine and Kise at least), but today they’re being a special kind of stupid, and it causes his blood pressure to rise dangerously high from being exposed to their idiocy.

Most people have enough common sense and courtesy to understand that jokes, like lies, tend to lose their effectiveness when repeated too many times, but not Aomine. Then again, as the saying goes, small things entertain small minds, which is why he seems to take great pleasure in pissing Midorima off with the most irritating nickname he’s heard yet.

“Care for a little one-on-one, mom?” 

Midorima ignores him, although his left eyebrow can’t help twitching. Aomine isn’t one to give up easily, and he keeps needling Midorima until he gets a reaction out of him.

“Come on, mom, take that stick out of your ass and practise with me.”

Midorima continues to stay silent.

“Hey,” Aomine says, spinning a basketball on the tip of his index finger. “Are you listening, mom? Mooooom?”

At last, Midorima’s patience runs out, and he turns on Aomine with a glare that could stop a herd of stampeding buffalo in its tracks. “Stop calling me that.”

“What?” says Aomine, pleased that he’s finally been given a response. “Mom?”

“Yes,” Midorima grits out. “*That*.”

“But it’s funny.” Looking to Kise for support, Aomine adds, “Right?”

Kise nods. “I think it’s hilarious.”

He would, Midorima thinks sourly, because he has the IQ of a sea slug, but then Murasakibara decides to get in on the act, too, because mob mentality, as Midorima knows from experience, is as contagious as the common cold.

“I think it’s cute,” Murasakibara declares, because he’s obviously insane, or at least deluded.

“What do you think, Kurokocchi?” calls Kise to the member who has thus far remained at a safe distance from the imbecility.

Kuroko should really know better, and he usually does, but he also has a twisted streak, so Midorima doesn’t expect him to offer any assistance. It’s a good thing he hasn’t bothered getting his hopes up, because Kuroko clearly enjoys watching him suffer, even though his expression remains as bland as ever.

“I’ve always wanted a mother like Midorima-kun.”

The other three start snickering childishly, so Midorima turns to Akashi, because they may not listen to him, the vice captain, but they’d never dare to defy the person with the highest authority.

“Akashi,” says Midorima, in a voice that’s more calm and even than his temper, “please tell these buffoons to cease their tomfoolery.”

But Akashi seems uninterested, eyes fixed on his clipboard. “I fail to see the problem here, Shintarou. As long as everyone on the team meets their targets, it doesn’t matter what they call each other, or me, for that matter.”

Aomine grins. “See? Dad says it’s okay.”

“However,” Akashi continues, raising his gaze to meet Aomine’s, “any slacking off will not be tolerated. If I’m not satisfied with your performance, then there’ll be no reason for you to complain when you’re punished.”

Aomine mutters something about Akashi being the one who wears the pants in their relationship, and Kise laughs that they’d better get back to what they’re doing, otherwise Akashi will put them over his knee and give them a spanking (which fills Midorima’s mind with all kinds of unwanted images, most of them filthier and more perverted than he’ll ever admit).

Pushing them firmly away, he remains by Akashi’s side for a moment, watching him go over his checklist. When Midorima thinks about it, he realises that Akashi really hasn’t protested against other people call him, not Murasakibara’s “Aka-chin” or even Kise’s “Akashicchi,” although they’re completely inappropriate for a person of his gender and status.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Midorima asks. “About them calling you something so ridiculous.”

“I don’t care,” Akashi says, “and neither should you. But,” he adds, placing his clipboard away so he can give Midorima his full attention, “you do. Why is that?”

Midorima is taken-aback by the question. “Isn’t it obvious? Because it’s embarrassing, of course.”

“Is it?” Akashi is being genuinely honest, like he’s failing to comprehend the reason for Midorima’s discomfort. 

“Yes,” Midorima replies, “it is.” But Akashi won’t let him off with only that, so Midorima clears his throat, and pretends he’s not blushing. “They’re implying that we’re a married couple, which is just absurd.”

“I see,” says Akashi. “Then, should we behave like the good parents we are by enforcing proper discipline on our delinquent children?”  
He smiles dangerously, striding off in the direction of their teammates, and Midorima wonders how on earth he could have possibly forgotten that, despite being the most intelligent, mature and capable member of the group, he’s also the most evil, wicked and scarily sadistic.


	3. Theme #8: Hurt/comfort

Written for the microfic meme  
Theme #8: Hurt/comfort

~~

There’s something very irritating about not being trusted, and it makes Midorima even more short tempered than usual as he tries his best to prepare a healthy, nutritious meal. He’s never been a good cook anyway, and it certainly doesn’t help to have Akashi hovering anxiously by his side, face flushed from fever, and looking like he’s on the verge of collapse.

He should be in bed, where Midorima left him fifteen minutes ago, resting and recovering his strength instead of worrying like a mother hen, but no, he had to follow him into the kitchen to check up on him and make sure that he hasn’t done anything to hurt himself, like losing a few fingers or setting his clothes on fire, which Midorima finds extremely insulting, because he may be terrible when it comes to cooking, but at least he doesn’t have a death wish.

“Shintarou, be careful when you’re chopping the vegetables,” Akashi reminds him, as if Midorima isn’t aware of this already, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he’s so ill, Midorima would be more annoyed with him.

Instead he says, with as much patience as he can muster, “I know.”

It doesn’t do anything for Akashi’s concern, judging by his expression and the way he watches Midorima’s hands with narrowed eyes as he slices the carrots, and Midorima can tell he’s itching to push him aside and take over the job in his place. 

Unlike him, Akashi is a good cook, but right now he can hardly even stand, never mind make a stew. 

“I’ll be fine,” Midorima promises, a bit disappointed at how the carrots have turned out (lumpy and misshapen, and bearing no resemblance to the pictures in his recipe book), “so go back to bed.”

“I will,” says Akashi, “as soon you’re done.”

Since he’s the more stubborn of the two, Midorima gives in and pulls over a chair for Akashi to sit on, because it’s either that or carry him to the bedroom, something which he’s pretty sure will only end in pain (for him, anyway), even with Akashi in such a weakened state.

“Incidentally,” Akashi points out, once he’s finished coughing, “you could have just heated up some soup from a can.”

“I could,” Midorima replies, concentrating hard on cutting the potatoes into small, bite-sized chunks, “but home made food is better. Canned soup is full of salt and sugar. If you want something sweet afterwards, I’ll make you a fruit salad.”

He regrets saying the words as soon as they’ve left his mouth, because Akashi goes straight back into anxiety mode at the memory of Midorima’s disastrous attempt at carving apples into bunny shapes.

Maybe he should enrol onto a cookery course, Midorima thinks, if only to stop Akashi from fretting about him doing damage to either the kitchen or himself.

In the meantime, he manages to finish prepping the vegetables without making himself bleed, and although Midorima doesn’t expect the stew to look amazing once it’s finished, the taste should be just fine.

Probably.

Then he’s the one to start worrying, because what if he ends up accidentally poisoning Akashi? 

Thankfully, Midorima doesn’t keel over on the spot when he samples the stew, but it’s hardly the most appetising thing he’s ever tasted. 

Noticing his dissatisfied expression, Akashi asks, “What’s wrong?”

It’s difficult for Midorima, who prides himself on always doing his best and expecting optimal results in return for his hard work, to admit, and he can’t hide the hurt in his voice when he says, quietly. “It’s not good.”

He may not say it with words, but he cares a great deal for Akashi, and since Akashi is so important to him, Midorima wants to please him, but he can’t even do something as simple as making a stew. 

It’s frustrating, and mortifying, and if they’d been doing this a few hundred years in the past, Midorima would have slit his own stomach by now to repent for his failure and uselessness.

Reaching over to try the stew for himself, Akashi says, “Add a little more seasoning, and it should be fine. It’s edible. That’s all that matters.”

Midorima still isn’t satisfied with the end result, but he supposes it could be worse. At least he’s not on the same level as Momoi. Akashi seems to be thinking along the same lines, which is why Midorima guesses he’s lowering his standards. 

At last, Akashi allows Midorima to shepherd him back to the bedroom, and he eats the stew without a fuss. Midorima hands over his medicine and a glass of water, only relaxing when Akashi settles himself against the pillows.

“Honestly, Shintarou,” he sighs, “I’m not a child. You don’t have to stay with me like this.”

“I chose to remain here of my own free will,” Midorima replies, somewhat huffily. “And besides, I haven’t made that fruit salad for you yet.”

Akashi’s eyes, which have only just begun to slide shut, snap open again in alarm, and Midorima pushes him down before he can get out of bed again. 

“I’d tell you to stop worrying,” Midorima says, “but there doesn’t seem to be much point. In that case,” he adds, looking away awkwardly, “I would appreciate it if, when you recover, you could teach me how to cook.”

All his life, Midorima has tried not to rely on others, to not ask for help or favours, but to do everything that he can, by himself, with his own strength and ability, so it means a lot that he would make such a request of someone.

“Yes,” says Akashi, smiling slightly. “I could do that.”


	4. Theme #3: Crack

Written for the microfic meme  
Theme #3: Crack

~~

They don’t really talk much over breakfast. Seijuurou isn’t a morning person, and Shintarou has always believed that dining tables are a place for eating meals, not for idle chitchat. 

Today, it’s different.

Seijuurou is more alert than usual, although he picks at his rice like he’s not hungry at all. Shintarou wonders if he’s ill, but Seijuurou’s face is devoid of fever flush and while his movements may be slow, they’re also precise, not languid the way they would be if he wasn’t feeling well.

“Are you finished?”

Shintarou nods wordlessly, and Seijuurou clears away the dishes. He doesn’t have to be at the Shougi Association until his afternoon match, so Shintarou is the one to leave first for work.

“I’ll be off,” he tells Seijuurou, shrugging into his coat.

“See you later,” Seijuurou replies, but before Shintarou can close the front door behind himself, he adds, “And by the way, you’re going to become a father.”

There’s a dull thud as Shintarou drops his briefcase onto his foot.

“What.”

“I’m pregnant,” says Seijuurou, coolly. “Also, I think you might have broken a few toes just now.”

~~

Fortunately, the damage isn’t too bad. Shintarou’s foot is left bruised and sore, but at least the bones are still intact. He keeps having recurring nightmares though, where he wakes up to find Seijuurou holding a pair of scissors over his crotch and smiling in a way that makes him look more than a little unhinged.

Because he has absolutely no idea what to do, Shintarou turns to Ryouta. He should probably go to someone who can give him actual advice, but Ryouta is the only person he knows who has been in the same situation.

“Oh god,” says Ryouta, a look of horror on his face. “Has he started breathing fire yet? Is he spitting poison at you?”

“He’s pregnant,” Shintarou reminds him archly, deciding to keep quiet about his dreams, “not possessed.”

Ryouta doesn’t seem convinced, but he’s more than happy to regale Shintarou with stories about his own expectant partner, not that he needs any prompting, because he could talk about Tetsuya all day, every day. 

“Seriously,” Ryouta gushes, looking and sounding like a lovesick teenage girl, “he *waddles*, Midorimacchi. Like a penguin! It’s so cute I could die!”

Midorima kind of wishes he would, if only to get a moment of peace and quiet, because it’s impossible to get a word in edgeways when Ryouta is in full-on infatuation mode.

He tries to imagine what Seijuurou will look like in a few months time, but he simply can’t. 

Then there’s a tiny little voice in his mind that wonders what Seijuurou is going to do when he can’t fit into his kimono anymore, because he never wears anything else for his shougi matches.

What does Seijuurou even think about all this, anyway? Shintarou still hasn’t asked him yet. 

It’s easier for Ryouta. Tetsuya has the right aptitude for being a parent. Furthermore, he deals with small children on a daily basis. He also happens to have married a man who might as well be the same age as the students he teaches, at least mentally.

Seijuurou, on the other hand, has never been fond of kids, and neither has Shintarou, which is why he’s finding the whole situation difficult to get his head around.

Miraculously, Ryouta stops rambling on for five minutes, and his expression turns serious. “Are you scared?” he asks.

“Of course I’m not,” Shintarou snaps, offended, even though he’s secretly terrified, but Ryouta knows better. He also doesn’t make fun of him, and smiles instead.

“I was, when I first found out. I still am, sometimes, when I think about how it won’t be much longer now before Tetsuya goes to have his surgery.” 

Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, Shintarou huffs. “Don’t underestimate the power of science. I won’t tell you there’ll be nothing to worry about, but you should trust more in modern day medicine.”

Ryouta grins. “Because you’re a doctor?”

“Yes,” Shintarou says proudly. “I am.”

He’s also a father, and he’s determined to be a good one, because Seijuurou would expect no less of him, and because he deserves the best.

It’s why Shintarou returns home later than usual, weighed down with bags full of books, which he pores over for hours. 

He doesn’t hear Seijuurou enter the study, partly because he’s so absorbed, but mostly because Seijuurou’s talent for catching people unawares is almost as good as Tetsuya’s.

“What are you reading?” 

“Parenting guides,” Shintarou replies. “I also purchased books on astrology and baby names.”

Seijuurou flips through a couple of them, but he doesn’t appear terribly interested in trying to predict what star sign their child will be. 

Closing the book he’s been taking notes on, Shintarou reaches into his pocket. “I bought something else, too. For you, I mean.” Clearing his throat, Shintarou adds, “It’s considered unlucky for a child to be born out of wedlock. In order to successfully counter this, I must therefore make a request.”

Getting down on one knee (which is harder than it should be, given that his foot still hurts from where he dropped his briefcase on it), Shintarou offers Seijuurou the box he’s holding.

“Will you marry me?”

Sliding the ring onto his finger, Seijuurou says, “Very well, I accept your proposal. I believe it would also be appropriate to consummate our engagement.” Then his eyes take on a dangerous glint. “But don’t think I’ll be letting you top again. Not tonight. Not ever.”

Shintarou nods meekly. “Understood.”


	5. Theme #3: Fluff

Written for the microfic meme  
Theme #6: Fluff

~~

Midorima is always the first to wake up. Although he’s never been good at cooking, it’s his job to make breakfast, since Akashi can barely form a coherent sentence so early, never mind be trusted to do things with a naked flame. Besides, Midorima can just about manage rice and a few vegetables, and even fish, which he’s slowly getting better at not burning (much). 

When he returns to the bedroom, it’s to find that Akashi hasn’t moved a millimeter from where Midorima left him earlier, and while Midorima manages to get him into a sitting position, he refuses to open his eyes.

“I’ll kill you,” Akashi says, swaying drowsily.

“I’m sure you will,” Midorima soothes. “Now, get dressed.”

But he has to help Akashi with that, too, because if he didn’t, Akashi would simply flop back onto the mattress and resume his impression of a corpse. 

It’s low blood pressure that makes him like this. Akashi is technically conscious, albeit barely, but he hasn’t succeeded in starting to function yet as Midorima fastens the buttons of his shirt for him.

Nudging Akashi in the direction of the bathroom so he can wash his face and brush his teeth, Midorima checks on breakfast, disappointed to find that the fish hasn’t fared too well this morning, either, but it’s not too charred, and Akashi is unlikely to complain. He probably won’t even notice what he’s putting into his mouth.

He stumbles into the dining table a few minutes later, and he’s making some progress, Midorima notes, because his eyes are open at last, but his gaze is cloudy and unfocused, so Midorima doesn’t bother attempting to engage Akashi in conversation until he’s capable of communicating with words rather than grunts and growls.

Once Akashi is seated and the morning meal has been served, Midorima has to keep reminding him to eat, because Akashi’s hand a habit of tending to stop midway on its journey from the bowl in front of him to his mouth.

“You’re dropping rice everywhere,” says Midorima, not that Akashi hears him.

He’s also getting it all over his face when his chopsticks guide food to his cheek instead of his lips, and Midorima reaches across the table to wipe it away with his handkerchief.

“Are you disobeying me?” Akashi mumbles.

“No,” Midorima says patiently. “I’m cleaning up your mess.” 

If Kise were in this situation, he’d be using something else to get Akashi clean, like his tongue, but Midorima is far too much of a gentleman to take advantage of Akashi’s vulnerable state, although it doesn’t stop him from thinking dirty thoughts about it.

When Akashi comes around, it’s like magic the way he snaps to attention, the brain fog disappearing and his features becoming alert. 

“Good morning, Shintarou.”

“Good morning, Akashi.”

Akashi’s eyes, when they’re not being glazed with sleep, see everything, but then again, Midorima’s embarrassment would be easily noticed even by the densest of people. 

“You’re blushing,” he observes.

“It’s nothing,” Midorima says, and he quickly distracts Akashi from being suspicious by adding, “Do you think you can finish the rest of your breakfast?”

Akashi frowns at his meal. “You burned the fish again.”

“Yes,” Midorima sighs, almost wishing he could have zombie mode Akashi back instead of the regular, ever critical version. “I did.”

“I’ve told you before,” says Akashi, “you should leave the cooking to me.”

And risk burning the house down, Midorima wants to ask, but he doesn’t, because Akashi is actually capable of following through on his death threats when he’s fully conscious.

“It’s fine,” Midorima insists. “I’ll get better.”

Akashi looks skeptical, but he eats his food anyway, evaluating Midorima’s culinary technique as he does.


	6. Theme #5: First time

Written for the microfic meme  
Theme #5: First time

~~

Midorima may be a prude, but he’s still a teenage boy. He won’t admit it, but even he has needs. They’re purely physical of course, because it’s simply hormones that are making him act out on his desires, and not because he’s in love. 

That would be ridiculous.

But Midorima likes to do things properly, which is why he spends a great deal of his evenings educating himself on how to have intercourse with another man by searching the internet for advice.

For once, he’s glad that he gives the impression of being reliable and responsible, if a little dull and unpredictable, otherwise he wouldn’t have been allowed his own computer at home.

“I’m conducting research on medical schools,” he says when his mother brings up the subject of spending too much time online over dinner.

Luckily, she has no idea how to check his browser history, but she believes his lies because he’s a good son who always lives up to his parents’ expectations (when he’s not lurking around on gay sex forums for pointers, that is).

Midorima would feel guilty about being dishonest, but he kind of needs to get laid, so his conscience takes a back seat to his libido.

He doesn’t have Akashi’s skill in reading other people, but he’s pretty sure they’re ready to take their relationship to the next level. They’ve done everything else that doesn’t involve penetration, and while dry humping and blowjobs are great, Midorima has finally reached the stage where he really just wants to fuck.

He’s not bothered about which one of them actually does the fucking, although he’d prefer it to be him, but he’s as familiar with Akashi’s personality as he is with his body, so he’s also not expecting Akashi to let him have his way.

What Midorima doesn’t expect, however, is for Akashi to say “no”.

“Fine,” huffs Midorima, hiding his upset over Akashi’s refusal by pretending to be annoyed instead. “I’ll assume the submissive role.”

“That’s not the problem,” Akashi tells him.

“Then what is?”

“I’m a winner,” Akashi states. “I’ve never lost anything in my life. I’m not about to change that by surrendering my virginity to you.”

Midorima’s jaw drops in disbelief. It’s the stupidest thing he’s ever heard, and it hasn’t even come from Kise’s mouth. 

After he’s regained the ability to speak, he attempts to help Akashi see sense. 

“We’re not playing a game of shogi. Sex has nothing to do with winning or losing. It’s about relieving tension. Moreover, it’s mutually beneficial. I can only see positives in the progression of our relationship.”

But Akashi is the most stubborn person in the world, because he digs his heels in further by crossing his arms over his chest and saying, again, “No.” And then, just in case he hasn’t established the fact that he’s being frustratingly obstinate, he adds, “I won’t do it.”

“I’ve already made the necessary purchases!” Midorima goes red when he remembers shopping for condoms and lubricant at the pharmacy, but Akashi takes no pleasure or amusement from his embarrassment.

“I don’t care. I’m ending this conversation now, Shintarou. You know how much I dislike having to repeat myself.”

It forces Midorima to play his trump card, and it also means being forced to swallow his pride in order to get what he’s asking for.

“Please,” he says, and it’s physically painful to be reduced to begging, but he tries to ignore it. “I want to have sex.”

Akashi sighs. “You’ll have to make do with a handjob, so be grateful I’m willing to give you even that.”

He reaches for Midorima’s pants and Midorima seizes his wrist, reclining onto his back and pulling Akashi down with him. It’s a struggle, but he somehow manages to keep his gaze locked on Akashi’s while spreading his legs.

Look, Midorima says silently. Look what you do to me. Look how you make me humiliate myself for you.

But even though Akashi can read him better than anyone else, Midorima knows he still has to say the words out loud for him to really understand.

“I want to have sex,” Midorima reiterates. “With you. I want... I want your cock.” He swallows, face burning. “In my ass. I want you to fuck me, Akashi.”

Actually, he’d rather die instead, but Akashi smiles at last. 

“Well, that was entertaining.”

“Shut up,” Midorima mutters.

Akashi is enjoying this far too much. “Don’t you want me to fuck you anymore?” 

“How can you,” Midorima counters, “if you have no intention of losing your virginity to me?”

“I believe you mentioned wanting something in your ass,” Akashi reminds him, and he’s smiling even more now in a way that sends shivers down Midorima’s spine. “A vibrator should suit that purpose just fine, I think.”

“What,” says Midorima.

Akashi laughs. “You’re not the only one who’s been doing internet research, Shintarou. If we do it like this, then we’ll both be able to get what we want. Wouldn’t you agree?”

It’s ironic how fate can sometimes work out, Midorima realises, but also how he can still get screwed without actually having sex.


	7. Theme #2: AU

Written for the microfic meme  
Theme #2: AU

~~

There’s a reason why Akashi doesn’t usually let the other members sit in on their meetings, because they complain too much and because he’s never seen the point of pretending to be democratic when he’s the one who makes all the decisions. Midorima, of course, is an exception, but only because he’s good at managing their budget and does as he’s told. Kise, on the other hand, isn’t really good for anything apart from being pretty and drawing in more than half of their fanbase.

It’s why Akashi ignores him to the best of his ability (and considering the amount of time they’re forced to spend together both on tour and in the studio, he’s become rather skilled at tuning out the sound of Kise’s voice), but Kise doesn’t take very well to people not paying attention to him when he has something to sulk about.

“The latest merchandise releases have been selling well,” Midorima announces. “The hug pillows in particular are proving popular, with Kuroko’s being the most in demand.”

“That’s because Ryouta keeps buying them all as soon as we get new ones in stock,” Akashi says.

Any normal person would have the decency to be ashamed of such an obvious perversion. Kise just looks pleased with himself.

“Honestly,” Akashi sighs, “what’s the point of stockpiling our own products?” Then he raises his hand before Kise can speak. “No, don’t tell me. I’d rather not know what you actually use those pillows for.”

“Why does the money even matter if you’re already rich?” asks Kise, who returns to his previous dejected state on being denied the opportunity to gush over Kuroko.

“It matters,” explains Akashi, “because the more records we sell, the more our popularity increases, and the more our popularity increases, the sooner we’ll be able to expand our influence to Europe and the US.”

“Oh, so that’s your true objective.” Kise nods in understanding. “World domination.”

Midorima coughs discreetly in the background. 

“Anyway,” Kise continues, “how come Murasakicchi gets to do a duet with Kurokocchi this time?”

“Because of the combined cuteness effect,” says Akashi. “It appeals to the fangirl’s maternal instincts. Surely you’re aware by now that each of our members are split into three different categories: molest, marry and mother. Incidentally, you and Daiki fit into the first one. Shintarou and myself belong in the second while Tetsuya and Atsushi go in the third.”

“That’s why we’ve been giving Kuroko so many ballads lately,” Midorima says. “Songs about lost love and heartbreak are all a ploy to make people feel sorry for him and therefore buy more of his singles.”

“Therefore,” Akashi concludes, “making us more money. It’s also why I won’t allow any of you to write your own lyrics, because that would be disastrous. Remember the last ones Atsushi tried to get past me?”

Kise frowns. “Was that the song that went ‘maiubo, maiubo, so tasty and delicious, break them and I’ll crush you, la la la’?” Akashi’s expression turns strained at the memory. “Wait, what was Midorimacchi’s called again?”

Midorima adjusts his glasses proudly. “An Ode to Oha Asa.”

“And Aominecchi’s sounded like something you’d hear in a giant robot anime.” Kise perks up. “Kurokocchi’s was good, though. Probably because he reads lots of poetry and stuff.”

“He dedicated it to his dog,” Midorima says archly.

“But we should’ve kept it anyway! Girls just love guys who are weak against animals.” 

Akashi interrupts before the conversation can derail any further. “Well, we all have to put up with things we’d rather live without, Ryouta, so you’re not alone in that respect. Do you think I enjoy having to play the role of the prince character?”

“It’s better than being the butt monkey,” Kise counters. 

“Then stop making it so easy for others to pick on you. Now, Shintarou, what was the next item on our agenda?”

“More fanservice,” Midorima replies. “And possibly the creation of an otome game.”

“You mean the kind of fanservice where we get to drape ourselves half naked over each other?” asks Kise.

“The very kind,” says Akashi. “But Shintarou is off limits because he belongs to me alone.”

“I thought we were all your bitches?”

“You are, but Shintarou is the one who holds the title of harem wife.”

“Wow.” Kise casts a sympathetic glance at Midorima. “Sucks to be you.”

Midorima doesn’t disagree.


End file.
